


Dirge and Dura hunt knife ears

by Mercykiller



Category: LARP - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercykiller/pseuds/Mercykiller





	Dirge and Dura hunt knife ears

She sat cross legged at the front of her tent, the hide that covered the entrance swayed gently in the morning breeze that still carried with it the charred meat smell of the previous night’s pit fires. The camp was quiet and still, with only the calls of dawn birds and shrill insects breaking the silence. Most of the orcs, goblins, and trolls of Ironclaw were either still asleep or on the last watch before the sun rose.   
Dura was garbed in a padded shirt that flared at the elbows, embroidered with woven strips of fabric and small bones and beads, over it was her leather chest plate, her skirt was now decorated with the Ironclaw's symbol, a shaggy pelt was loosely wrapped around her shoulders, hands wrapped in strips of cloth inspected the arrows laid out in front of her, checking over the fletching, shafts and points. She gave each one a gentle flex listening for any crackling in the wood that might indicate weaknesses.  
Satisfied that each would fly true she bundled them up and slid them into the quiver at her side.  
A noise coming from inside her tent made her turn, quirking an eyebrow as she pulled back the opening to find one of the younglings standing sleepily in front of her.   
"Can I sit with you? Can't sleep." They mumbled quietly and Dura looked behind them at her sleeping furs which was currently taken over by a couple small forms wrapped in woven blankets and other furs. One form was moving, tossing and turning as they dreamt, obviously the disturbance to the one in front of her.  
"Of course little one." She pulled the youngling into her lap and pulled her furs around them both.   
"You can help me check my bow. I am going hunting." She whispered putting one hand around the youngling and picked up the weapon that sat next to her with the other, holding it in front of her so the youngling could see it. The bow arms were sewn tightly into a sleeve of soft leather, the grip was wrapped in a tougher hide and decorated with a small wooden carving of a wolf.  
"Why is there fur on the ends?" The youngling pointed out soft rabbit fur sewn to the tips.  
"So my prey won't hear me when I shoot. It muffles the sound." She explained and gave the bow a slow flex, making sure it was limber and the wood warmed up, the youngling nodded and watched her actions carefully. Feeling next to her she found the bow string and held one end out for the youngling to take hold of.   
"Now feel along the string for frays, I do not want it snapping. Go from one end to the other." She instructed and pulled a small jar of soft wax made from rendered fat from her bag, coming along and working the wax into the string while the youngling held it stretched for her and pointed out spots where the string could use some smoothing down.   
"Coil the string when you're done." Dura put the jar in front of the youngling so they could reach it, looking up as she sensed movement in her peripheral, casting her gaze into the camps shadows listening carefully for the sound of footsteps, her hand slowly going for her dagger that was sheathed at the small back.  
It took her a moment but she spotted the form, tall and lean, casually resting against on one of the trees off to the side of her tent. His arms were crossed as he watched her, bow and quiver slung over his back and swordstaff lazily held in the crook of his arm. She let go of the dagger and gave the younglings hair a quick ruffle.  
"Well done little one. Now go and help those who are up, I will back in a few days so behave for Gorag." She instructed and watched as they got up and scampered off into the main camp. Dura gathered up her dulled metal bracers and elbow cops, strapping them on in an unhurried manner, forgoing her usual plate shoulders as they made too much noise for her liking.   
The tall orc came over and crouched down in front of her, casually picking up her sword and inspected its edge while Dura secured the shaggy pelt to the bone clasps on her shirt.  
"Why do you waste time on them?"  
"To teach them."  
"It's not your duty."   
"Do you have a point Dirge?" She looked at the senior ranking orc, meeting his cold gaze with her own. Getting up she shook out her skirts and held out her hand for her sword which Dirge handed back to her as he straightened to stand over her, his lips curling into a snarl.   
"Mind your tongue, you are here on Grimgar's word, not mine.” He growled at her and Dura had to fight the urge to snap back at the warlord instead she picked her words carefully.   
“Duty or not, I will do what I can for this clan. I gave my oath.” She casually sheathed her sword and collected her bow, strung it and slung it over her shoulder.   
“Now are we hunting or not?” She brushed past Dirge and strode for the camp's main gate, heading north into the Ironclaws outlying forests, she could hear his footsteps as he came after her.  
The northern borders were quiet, removed from any large patrols or settlements, it took the pair a couple of days hard hiking, avoiding all the usual routes as they wanted to slip through their neighbour’s territory undetected, on a couple of occasions slipping from an animal track into tree cover to wait for a group of travellers to pass by them. While they had an alliance with the territories Dura sensed it was one that was a careful balancing act for both parties, and something she was sure Dirge didn't want to jeopardise because of a stupid misunderstanding.   
They snared small game that they cooked over small fires while it was still light in the day, burying the ashes and covering up their camp sites as they left. They would rest in the early evening and move on before the sun rose again, Dura preferred to climb a nearby tree using the branches as cover when it was her turn watch for travellers while Dirge slept, who would choose to rest at the base of a tree, weapons within easy reach.   
When they reached the edge of the grey wanderer’s territory they were careful to head east into its heart, away from the closely guarded borders shared with the vindictive Sonnenlanders.   
They had spoken little, both more focused on where they hiked than exchanging pleasantries and small talk. However, Dura was the first to break the silence.  
“Why me?” She inquired over her shoulder at the taller orc who was only a few steps behind her.   
“You what?” Dirge responded, a tone of impatience in his voice as if she should have asked the whole question the first time.  
“Invite me to hunt? Why not on our lands?”  
“To test you. And they're not your lands...yet. An oath and a couple fights doesn't prove anything to me.”   
“So you don't trust me then.” Her statement was met with dry laughter that echoed down the valley they were walking through, startling a number of small sparrow like birds with long glittering tail feathers, sending them fluttering into the sky, their shrill calls joining in with the laughter.  
Dura growled her annoyance but kept walking, rolling her shoulders to adjust the position of her quiver. Her gaze drifted to the sky, a small tail of smoke twisted lazily upwards from the tree line, thin and wispy, almost indistinguishable from the clouds moving across the horizon if it wasn't for the slight difference in colour. Dirge spotted it as well and roughly pushed past her, heading straight for its point of origin.   
They reached the would be camp just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, Dura could make out the flicker of firelight through the trees, whoever was around obviously wasn't concerned about possible intruders or they would have been alerted of the orcs presence by scouts, traps, or trip wires. Dirge indicated with a hand signal that he wanted her to circle around from the other side, nodding her confirmation, the pair split off from each other. As she got closer she could catch the scent of roasting meat and herbs on the breeze, but there was an underlaying smell of something sickly sweet, like the pale skins who had bathed in something they called perfume or overripe fruit, but this smell though was subtle and more muted. It was a scent she was having trouble placing despite it feeling familiar to her.  
Spotting a larger tree who’s branches hung over the camp she checked over her weapons, making sure they wouldn't come free or rattle as she climbed up the trunk and into the thick foliage. Quickly finding a suitable overhanging branch to crouch in she notched an arrow to her bow and looked down into the camp along the shaft of her weapon. The occupants were dressed in well-tailored clothes, slim and elegant, earthy tones with hints of metallic shimmers, accented with more vibrant colours. They bore small eating knives and their weapons were set away from where they all sat, rather than next to their wielders, with the exception of an archer who’s bow lent next to them.   
All sported long pointed ears, their scent now made sense.  
“Elves….” She hissed to herself and pulled the bowstring back to her chin, lining up a shot with the closest figure.

She was about to release the arrow when Dirge emerged from the tree line, his sword staff was held low, its tip just touching the ground as he stalked into the campsite.  
The elves looked up from their meal and over at the lean orc that had intruded on their otherwise quiet evening, some almost seemed to smile as if the encounter would be friendly, others warily looked towards their weapons. Dirge got closer, and a male stood up lifting a hand in greeting, mouth open to speak but nothing except a cry came out. The sword staff swung up, the hand fell, blood poured from the wound, the staff came down again slicing through cloth and flesh alike, shoulder to groin, terror spread across the rest of the group as the first elf dropped to his knees screaming, clutching at his innards that were pouring from the open gash across his stomach.  
Dirge was already moving, not bothering to kill the crippled figure. The she-elf archer was trying to get as far away from him as fast as possible, attempting to get some range so she could use her bow which she was frantically trying to notch an arrow to. Dura tracked her movement with her arrow and released, the projectile embedding itself in her thigh, sending her tumbling to the ground clutching at her leg. She switched to her next target immediately, barely registering the screamed that followed when Dirge descended on the downed victim. Her next arrow found its target in the throat of an elf who had managed to reach the weapons, he dropped the sword he was unsheathing and gurgled blood, clawing at the arrow as his life force poured through his fingers, mouth opening and closing in gasping breaths like a fish out of water.  
Dirge charged at an elf who had managed to get his hands on a weapon but was struggling to unsheathe it, slamming bodily into them and sending them stumbling giving Dirge time to swing the swordstaff tearing through an arm, severing muscle and tendons to leave the limb hanging uselessly. To add insult to injury Dirge used the blunted end of the staff to knock the elf’s feet out from under him, as he hit the dirt the point of the swordstaff came down and drove through the stomach, leaning down onto the staff Dirge pushed until there was an audible pop and the elf spasmed as his spine was severed. He twisted the blade for good measure before drawing it out and moving on.  
Dura dropped from her perch and landed in a crouch, releasing an arrow that sunk into the shoulder of a female elf who was charging towards her, who grunted with pain but kept coming at Dura who started laughing, dropping her bow and drawing her sword, she twisted under the downswing of the sword that came slashing down and stepped in under their guard. With her free hand she grabbed the arrow still sticking out from the she-elfs shoulder and wrenched it up, tearing the wound open and making the girl shriek, Dura sunk her sword into her gut until it came out the other side, released her grip on the arrow and kicked her off the sword.  
A rush of hot wind blew past her and a tree erupted into flame Dura turned to see one of the last elves frantically trying to conjure a fireball, his hands were shaking so badly his first shot had missed.  
“…V..veritas...” was all he managed to stammer out with his second attempt. Dura sprinted at him, leaping bodily and landing square on his chest and sending them both rolling to the ground. Using her bulk she pinned him to the ground with her legs, knees pushing painfully into his shoulders. An arm clawed pitifully at her leg and she plunged her sword through it to hold him in place, as he cried out she shoved her hand into his mouth and caught his tongue between her taloned fingers.  
“Hold still.” She growled as the elf thrashed under her in a panic, legs kicking about as Dura pulled out her dagger and touched the edge along the elves cheek unintentionally carving the flesh away from the bone as he tried to twitch away from her.  
“I said hold still.” She hissed and pulled his tongue out further, lifting the dagger and slicing through the meat, the elf gagged, his mouth filling with blood, his cries turned to bubbling gurgles as he slowly choked, flicking the blade in her hands she bent and sliced through the cartilages of the ear, tearing the last chunk of skin from the side of his head, rather than slicing it off cleanly.  
Picking out a leather string from the elves clothing she strung the ear onto it and poked a hole through the tongue with her dagger so it could be threaded as well, looping the new trophies through her belt she got up, stepping off the spasming body, pulling her sword out as she went.  
Dirge had the last elf skewered to a tree, the blade of his sword staff embedded through their shoulder, she was whimpering as she tried to find a standing position that wouldn't make the blade cut into her any further.  
“Why? What have we done? Why us? We are peaceful.” Her whining voice made Dura grind her teeth and she stepped towards the elf snarling.  
“Shut up before I shove parts of your companions in your mouth to muffle those useless sounds.” She took hold of the sword staff and wiggled it a bit causing the elf to sob loudly but ultimately stop begging.  
Picking her way through the camp she looked over the elves belongings, taking a few pieces of jewellery, she knew she could trade with, a cloak and some of the preserved meats and fruits they had stashed away. On her way back to Dirge who was similarly looking through the camp, she stopped over the female elf she had run through with her sword, she was curled up on the ground clutching at the wound and moaning quietly.  
Forcing the she-elf to turn her head by using her dagger she hooked the point under the earlobe and jerked it upwards, the edge sheering through the flesh like butter, the elf wailed pitifully and clutched at the remains of their ruined stub of an ear. Delivering a swift kick to the side of the she-elf after picking up the severed appendage she moved on to Dirge who was now sitting on a log near the fire stringing a few bloody ears to his trophy necklace.  
“Didn't put up much of a fight.” Dura remarked, sheathing her weapons and sitting across from the warlord, unlooping her own trophy string and adding the still warm ear to it.  
“That’s their problem, not ours.” Dirge didn’t look up, instead leant forward and used his dagger to slice off a piece of the meat that the elves had been cooking over the fire, tearing a chunk away with his teeth and chewing slowly, Dura rolled her eyes and swung a leg over the log she was sitting on and lay back to stare up at the sky that was now a deep shade of purpleish black, the first stars showing their twinkling faces.  
“Don’t get to comfortable, we’re moving again soon.” Dirge growled at her.  
“Well hurry up and finish eating then.” She shot a glare over at him and swatted at a firefly that had decided to fly to close to her face.  
“We’ll leave them alive?” She made a gesture at the bodies that still moved weakly and the she-elf still pinned to the tree, looking at Dirge for a response, who just shrugged and carved himself another slice of meat from the roast.  
“I’ve done what I wanted, seen and collected what I needed. I’ll leave their fate in your hands.” He said, finally looking up at her and Dura crooked an eyebrow as her lip twitched into a sneer.  
“Let them suffer and bleed out, if any are worthy of it they’ll survive and come for me properly and put up a proper fight next time.” Dura closed her eyes for a moment, she could feel the bloodlust to keep fighting bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin and it made her want to pace the camp.  
After a few minutes of silence broken only by the soft moaning of the elves still living, her ears twitched as she heard Dirge get up and walk over to her, opening one eye and looking at the warlord as he loomed over her.  
“What? Are you done with your meal?” Dura’s expression remained neutral as she spoke, she had been expecting some sort of confrontation for a while, she could see the dagger he was still holding in one of his hands, its fat oiled edge was catching the light of the dying fire. Instead he dropped a chunk of meat on her chest and walked away towards the she-elf impaled with his sword staff, placing a foot on her stomach t brace himself as he heaved at the sword staff to retrieve it from the tree. Dura heard a couple of ribs crack and the she-elf shrieked as a new sort of pain washed over her. As soon as the weapon was free of her she crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.  
“We’re leaving.”  
She plucked up the meat from her chestplate and popped it into her mouth, gnawing on it half-heartedly as she sat back up, wiping the fat juice away with her hand.  
When they left the camp, the elves were slowly trying to pick themselves up, only to receive a swift kick that would send them sprawling back down with fresh wave of painful groans. Dura spat in the face of one before they vanished into the deep shadows of the forest to find a suitable camp to spend the rest of the night, they would head back to Ironclaw land when the run rose in the morning.  
-  
The scouts spotted them as they entered Ironclaw land swiftly sending news of their return back to Grimgar and the rest of the warband.  
Grimgar stood at the front of the gathering as the pair of them walked through the gates carrying a large herdbeast hogtied to a thick branch over their shoulders. His arms were crossed over his chest and displeasure was written all over his face when Dirge and Dura stopped in front of him.  
“This does not make up for abandoning your post.” Grimgar hissed and flicked a finger at the kill that would feed most of the clan for several weeks, some members were already moving forward to take the kill from them so it could be cut up, cooked, or preserved.  
“Looks like you had things handled.” Dirge snapped back and handed his end of the brace to one of the orcs as Dura did the same, both of them straightening as the weight was lifted from their shoulders.  
“We’re also bringing back trophies, came across elves. Dura fought well.” Dirge thumbed his necklace and pointed out the beginnings of Dura’s, which was looped to her belt. Grimgar raised an eyebrow and looked her over, after a moment nodded and began to walk away from the gathering.  
"Come to the wartent when you're dome Dirge." He commanded and disappeared into the sea of tents.  
Some of the orcs came to greet the pair, asking details of their journey and gripping Dura's arm in a warrior's brace, a silent way of praising her work. She nodded her thanks to each and allowed Dirge to do most of the speaking.   
"Come, we are not done yet." Dirge called to her finally and led the way through the camp towards the farseers tent, the smell of burning incense and other offerings assaulted Duras nose before they even came close to it.   
Farkuun was sitting at the front, a smoking pipe clenched between teeth as he slid a grinding stone over a sword.   
"I hope these are good offerings this time." Farkuun looked at the two of them and laid down his sword.  
"Ears of elves and a tongue of a caster." Dirge crouched and pulled off his trophy necklace, Dura mirrored his moves and held out her own tokens for Farkuun to inspect.   
"Acceptable." He finally nodded and removed several of the ears and the tongue, putting them in a piled pouch on his belt.  
Their business with the farseer done they left, Dura started heading towards her tent that was on the outskirts of the camp when Dirge stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.  
"Move yourself into the main camp. We'll be watching you." He ordered.


End file.
